Fifthwind (19 page)

Ben
remembered the poem Vincent had shown him. "The final battle
against them was fought here in Kishell Springs."

"Yes,
Stonewall was that final battle. It was impossible for The Eleven to
defeat men of such great power, so a very special young woman with a
very special skill did the next best thing. She took away the source
of their power. The Breaking of the Soul of the World refers to her
destroying the Fifthwind. Or, at least weakening it to the point that
it was no longer useful to them. After that, most of The Core were
hunted down and destroyed by The Eleven. It is believed that they
might have survived and passed their knowledge down through the ages
until they could once again rise."

"And
now, the Fifthwind is finally coming back," said Ben.

"...Along
with those who seek to control it." Vincent's voice turned stern,
"They've been waiting. For a thousand years, they've protected
their knowledge of sorcery for a time when it might prove useful once
more."

Ben
said, "If that's true, then they're ahead of us in their knowledge
of how to use the Fifthwind."

"Precisely
the reason why I've been working with Kyla for so many years. She's
come a long way and has real talent. They're not the only ones who
have access to the old ways. My dusty old books hold secrets too."

"How
do the Murg fit into all of this?" Ben asked, suddenly realizing
that he had never actually questioned the origin of the Murg.

"The
Murg are little more than wild dogs. They understand only strength,
courage, pain and power. The Magus Core subjugate the Murg and use
them as horrible weapons, torturing them into fierce torrents of
murder and madness. In short, if The Core has returned, we're going
to be in a lot of trouble. The Murg are the least of our troubles."

"And
you waited until now to share this with me?"

Vincent
opened his mouth to argue, but stopped with a heavy sigh.

Ben
said, "I wish there was someone to guide me the way you've helped
Kyla."

"There's
only so much I can do to help, but there might be others who can. You
mentioned that you've also encountered a second watcher?"

Ben
nodded. "A dark, shadowy figure, both on the day of my arrival and
again today out on the southern road. He didn't seem dangerous, just
curious."

"And
you waited until now to tell me this?" Vincent said rhetorically
mocking Ben's words.

Ben
shrugged innocently.

"This
might be good news. I think that the watcher you encountered is
another like yourself. If the Magus Core have returned, then it's
possible the Fahd have too. If they are near, they will be drawn to
you. The help you seek may have arrived just in time."

"The
figure was like an apparition, without form. Just smoke and shadows.
He only appeared as a man for a short time."

Vincent
smiled. "What you saw was a Drifter, a Fahd using the second
legendary skill. Only someone using Mindsight can detect a Fahd that
is in a state of Drift. That's probably why he showed interest in
you, no one else should have been able to see him. You were
practicing Mindsight when this occurred?"

"Yes."

"That
would explain a lot," Vincent said.

"Mindsight...
Drifting..." Ben mumbled to himself.

"Two
of the five legendary skills of the Fahd," Vincent nodded.

"What
are the other three?"

"The
old stories aren't entirely clear about that. Two of the skills used
by the Fahd appear often in the old texts, the other three are
subject to interpretation. Mindsight is the first, it's the ability
to—"

Ben
waved off the comment.

"Yes,
I suppose you are aware of that one." Vincent moved on, "The
second skill is a natural extension of the first. It is known as
Drifting."

"What
exactly is Drifting?"

The
old scholar paused as if searching for the right words, then leaned
forward and said, "It is the ability to mentally leave the physical
confines of your body and go to another location. The Eleven were
said to be able to see distant places as if they were standing
there."

"Distant
places?" Ben prodded.

"It's
just a logical extension of Mindsight. If you aren't using your eyes
to see, then why limit yourself? The Eleven could see things miles
away, just by going there in their minds."

Ben
sat back heavily in his chair. "You keep telling me that I'm like
them. I might have a few similar talents, but I am not one of them."

Vincent
seemed reluctant to meet Ben's eyes and clasped his hands together.
He lowered his head and quietly answered. "
Only
The Fahd are
documented to have the skill of Mindsight."

"No
one else? Only the Fahd?"

"The
legendary skills of the Fahd are unique to them. No one outside of
their ranks has ever demonstrated similar traits."

"You
still think I'm one of them, don't you?" Ben said. It was not a
question, so much as an accusation. "You've thought so all along,
and now you think they've come for me."

Vincent
nodded, "Your unique talents might have drawn their attention. Yes.
The time may be nearing for you to join them."

"I
won't!" Ben said defiantly. "I don't have—"

"Drift,"
Vincent said, interrupting Ben's adamant denial.

"What?"

"Drift!"
Vincent repeated. "If you are going to keep denying your talents,
then prove to yourself once and for all that you can't."

"But—"

"Prove
it!" Vincent scolded him. "You've been letting this eat you up
inside for far too long, now it's time you settled it. You know what
to do. Now, turn around."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ben
did as instructed and immediately closed his eyes with his back to
Vincent, letting himself slip into a relaxed state. As much as it
angered him, Vincent was right. It was time to set aside his fear and
discover with some degree of certainty if he possessed the skills
described of the Fahd. He could no longer blindly deny the talents
growing inside of him and he would have to accept the outcome of
whatever happened.

He
often had difficulty finding that special place in his mind, but he
made an effort to recreate what had happened on the road with Kyla.
He followed the same path of awareness around him and embraced the
same sensations. Soon, and a bit to his surprise, the room around him
was a familiar gray and perfectly clear. He could see Vincent's
furrowed brow as he arranged several items on the table.

"Now
make an effort to see the table behind you."

"Done,"
Ben smiled. Although his back was to the table, he could clearly see
the objects on it. It all made perfect sense now. He wasn't using his
eyes, so what difference did it make what direction he was facing. On
the table was a cup, a small book, three walnuts and a pair of
gloves.

"What
do you see?"

"The
inside of my eyelids," Ben quipped.

Vincent
frowned and reached for the walnuts. He hesitated only a moment
before swiping them up off the table and hurling them at Ben.

Ben
leaned to the side and let the projectiles pass harmlessly over his
right shoulder. "I wish you'd stop throwing things at me every time
you want to make a point!"

"And
I wish you'd stop denying that you can do that!" Vincent answered.
"Now that we've established that Mindsight is no longer a problem
for you... it's time to take the next step. I want you to move across
the room and take a look back at us."

Ben
knew that Vincent meant for him to move across the room only in his
mind. It was not an action that seemed possible, and as if it would
help him in the effort, he reached down and gripped his hands under
his chair and held tight. Then, with as much resolve as he could
gather, he made a single disheartening motion, and stood up from the
chair.

Ben
kept his mind clear and embraced an odd floating sensation as he
moved away from where he sat. He made no effort to look back, afraid
of what he might see. There was a strange tugging sensation as he
moved away, as if his body was unwilling to part with its
consciousness. What he was doing was unnatural in every way, but he
pushed forward toward the far side of the room.

His
progress was slow and difficult. The farther he ventured from his
body, the stronger the tugging sensation tried to pull him back. He
felt that if he didn't stop soon, there would be an unworldly snap,
and he would be forever lost in the ghostly shadows of the Masked
Pig. With much effort, and more than a little fear, he made it to his
destination and stopped. Then, with much anticipation he turned
around.

There,
on the far side of the room, at a table next to the stairs, sat
Vincent and a man he recognized as himself. The empty shell of his
body sat rigid, gripping the underside of the chair. Oddly, Ben could
still feel the wood on his fingertips and the strain on his knuckles,
but he dared not let go. Vincent patiently awaited news.

"It's
not an easy thing to do," Ben said, but watched his own mouth form
the words across the room. "I've made it to the door."

Vincent
glanced toward the door but obviously could not see Ben. He got up
out of his chair and moved around to stand before Ben's seated
figure. He leaned in close and whispered, "I want you to go through
the door."

Ben
should not have been able to hear the words from such a distance, but
he smelled the walnuts and ale on Vincent's breath that was inches
from his nose, and the message met his ears that were not much
farther away.

"It's
closed," Ben watched himself respond.

Vincent
prodded Ben's forehead and looked blankly to where he thought Ben was
standing, but missed by a few feet and spoke to the wall, "You
don't have a body. You don't need an open door."

It
would only take three steps for Ben to move through the door and
outside into the cold, but the thought of doing so was too unnatural.
The tugging he felt that anchored him to his body was increasing, and
he wasn't sure how much longer he would have the strength to resist
that pull. He was quickly tiring, and would have to make an attempt
soon if at all.

He
took a deep breath and stepped toward the door. At the last moment,
he feared collision and reflexively raised hands that weren't there.
After a short stumbling sensation, he found himself out on The Step
with snow falling around him.

He
knew that it was cold outside, but also knew that he was only on The
Step in spirit while his body remained in the cozy comfort of the
tavern. The snowflakes passed through him, their cold touch unfelt.
He was surrounded by the chill of winter, but could only feel the
warmth of the hearth at his back. He looked back at the wall of the
Masked Pig, and knew that on the other side, he still sat at a table
with Vincent. He had done the impossible and could no longer deny his
talent.

There
was still a constant tugging that told him that he was unnaturally
displaced, but he was not having any real difficulty maintaining
control until he peered down the road and saw the one thing that
could break his concentration. The world swirled around him, as he
succumbed to the pull of the invisible bond with his physical self.
He felt like he was falling, and in an instant, he opened his eyes.
He was still seated at the table and staring at Vincent. A wide smile
came over his face.

"What
is it?" Vincent asked.

"Mason's
back!" Ben announced. "He's coming down the road right now."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"We
don't have much time," Mason urged. The old soldier gulped down a
second cup of milk, while his men sat at a table across the room and
ate like they had not done so in weeks. Once Mason and the men
arrived, the Masked Pig began to come to life. The townsfolk were
starting to file in and Jimmy was hard at work making arrangements to
accommodate them. Word had spread quickly of the morning's tragic
event, and the frightened and confused were the first to seek refuge.
With so many in need, and with danger hanging over them like a dark
cloud, it was good to have Mason and his men back.

"An
attack is brewing," Mason continued, and then lowered his voice as
to not excite any would-be eavesdroppers. "I expect we'll see
something tonight."

"So
you've found them?" Kyla asked.

Mason
nodded. "During the day, there's little trace of them, but once the
sun goes down, the damn things are crawling everywhere. We really had
to watch our step."

"One
night," Mason continued, "we were huddled up in a small ravine...
we hadn't had the chance to pitch a proper camp. I had the men on two
hour watches all night, plus myself as a wide-eye since I couldn't
sleep. Anyway, a little after midnight, there comes this noisy
procession down through the gully, and I'll be damned if it wasn't
about a dozen of those things."

Ben
asked, "How did you face that many without casualties?"

"We
didn't have to. I was sure we'd be in for a fight since there wasn't
anywhere for us to go, but when they spotted us, they carved a wide
path and avoided contact. They knew we could see them, but they
seemed more interested in avoiding us. Maybe it was because they
weren't armed and equipped like the others we had seen. By morning,
there was no sign of them anywhere."

"Where
do they go during the day?" Ben asked.

Mason
reached for a loaf of hard-bread and broke it in half. "That's the
strange part. We found tracks on a few occasions, but they don't come
from anywhere and they don't lead to anywhere. They just appear, run
for a distance, and then they just end."

"How
much ground were you able to cover?"